


For She Who Trusts in the Maker

by bustoparadise



Series: The Jenny and The Ox [4]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Complete, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-27
Updated: 2015-06-27
Packaged: 2018-04-06 11:47:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,819
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4220517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bustoparadise/pseuds/bustoparadise
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“But you don't just believe Mythal's rubbish. You think it's all rubbish.” Sera tries to deal with her lover's atheism.</p>
            </blockquote>





	For She Who Trusts in the Maker

Sera says, “I was thinking about Mythal.”

It’s a rainy day—nothing to do but stay in with Adder. In her chambers. Doing _things_. On her bed.

Adder raises her head from between Sera’s legs. “If you’re thinking about Mythal, I’m clearly not doing this right.”

“What, your mind never wanders? ‘Sides, you’re being so frigging dainty. ‘Ooo, kiss-kiss-kiss. Ooo, breath-breath-breath.’ Not very—”

Adder stops being dainty.

Sera doesn’t remember what she was going to say about Mythal until days later.

* * *

“It’s just…you said Mythal was all demons and rubbish, yeah?” Sera is on lookout while Adder paints “The knight-captain dies in chapter 12” on Cassandra's mirror. Adder laid it out for her: “It's the perfect prank. She'll come after us, but first she'll go after Varric to make him rewrite the ending.”

“That I did.”

“But you think Andraste’s just as rubbish. The part about her being the bride of the Maker, I mean.”

“It’s a nice story, and it’s done a lot of good in the world. It’s just not my story.” Adder finishes up with a grin. “There! That'll give Cass something to worry about other than maybe being the next Divine.”

 _Because your story is nothing. Which is fine—never cared before who prays to what god, and I won't care now._ But even as she thinks it, Sera finds it's not true—not for Adder. _Frig._ She hates when her mind changes its mind on her. It's not fair. Makes her twitchy.

“You still think that?” Sera asks. “Even with Corypiss tapdancin' on the Maker's bed or whatever?”

“I believe he went somewhere in the Fade...or maybe one of those realms like the Fade that Morrigan was going on about.”

Footsteps sound on the way to Cassandra's room. Sera waves Adder to the window. “Time to be off!”

* * *

Sera watches from the sidelines of the training yard as Adder teaches Cole how to do that brilliant spinny-dagger-thing she does. You never know when that mad spirit-thing might forget itself and try to kill Adder; if Adder isn’t on her guard, Sera has to be.

But after the first few minutes, watching training is bloody boring.

“So you agree with Cornyfuss, then?” Sera asks.

“Huh?” Adder pants.

“He thinks there’s no god. You think there’s no god. Believing something the evil dick-face believes is mad. Fact.”

“Mm, Corypheus wants to become a god; I don’t. I think I’m still on the good side, hon. Who cares?”

Cole leaps forward, twisting, its wooden “daggers” striking Adder multiple blows to the chest. It grins up at her. At least Sera isn't forced to see the light in its bulging, fishy eyes because its rank blonde hair keeps covering them. The frigging thing is in love with her and it doesn't even know what love is.

“Good one, kid,” Adder says approvingly.

 _I care._  

* * *

_Argh—still talking_ , Sera thinks, fidgeting. Adder is going on about whatever with Josie, who makes fancy notes on her fancy clipboard in her fancy office. Sera realizes she’s never seen this office messy. _We’ll have to do something about that later, Addie and me._

Adder and Josephine are standing too close together, as usual, though Sera knows her idea of ‘too close together’ is ‘in the same room,’ and that’s a shite thing to think. It’s not Josephine’s fault that Adder flirted with her a few times back when she and Sera weren’t even together. Would be nice to sit in on a war table chat or two, though. Do their eyes meet too much?

 _Frig, shut up, brain._ She has to distract herself. “Is it a Qunari thing?” Sera asks. It’s a low blow, but you don’t become a thief if you’re not willing to fight dirty.

Adder and Josephine both turn to her, surprised. “Er, is helping refugees in the Hinterlands a Qunari thing?” Adder asks.

“Bull told me the Qunari don’t have gods. Just thought it was weird you follow the Qun. Which you hate. A lot.”

Adder shrugs. She’s so bloody reasonable—if Adder pulled this about Sera being elfy, there'd be shouting. “Eh, a broken clock is right twice a day.”

“What’ve clocks got to do with anything?”

“Tell you later, sweet cakes.”

Adder turns back to Josie for more blather. Sera takes a book from Josie’s bookshelf and turns it upside down. _Definitely needs a mess._

* * *

They’re sitting on a roof when Sera thinks of her next point. She nibbles on her strawberry scone while she considers it. (Since Adder doesn’t like cookies, they’ve been working on finding a food they can share. Tomorrow, they’re going to try cheese bread.) She leans over the edge of the roof: no one below them. Good. This is private, lover-type-stuff.

“I get it, you know,” Sera says. “Being pissed off at the Maker. Your life was pretty shite for a bit.”

Sera remembers, clear as day, Adder’s face and voice and posture as she said “me against those rats in the dark.” The words come to mind unexpectedly: When they fought that bastard Imshael, Sera took a lightning blast to the face. Everything from hair to toes ached, and she fell. But then she saw Addie in her mind, lying prone just like Sera was, her legs not working, hearing skitters, feeling little jaws strip away skin and flesh—and still fighting. Sera stood. She had to use her bow as a staff and lean on it, and the pain made her puke, but she stood. After a few tries, she managed to loose another arrow.

The memory pops up in quiet moments, too. Sera hates that—it makes her bawl, makes her want to run to that bastard Alexius and make him send her back in time so she can pull the scared, fourteen-year-old Adder out of that dark room. Luckily, those fits happened when Adder was sleeping, Sera lying beside her. That's the kind of awkward they don't need right now.

If Adder’s thinking of the shite in her life, she gives no sign. “Whose isn't?” _The rat story was from inside-Addie; this here’s outside-Addie._

“I was angry at Him for a while,” Sera says. “Still am, sometimes. And not sayin’ He’s ever gonna come back―people are pricks, yeah? But He’s gotta be there. Watching us, maybe. Or wanking, I dunno.” Sera giggles at the thought of a centuries-long wank.

“I’m not angry at Him. I don’t believe there’s a Him to be angry at, so that would be a big waste of energy.” Adder takes another bite of her scone. “Eh, sorry, Buttercup—I just don’t like sweet things.”

Sera winces. “Eugh. That’s Varric’s name for me. Fun bloke, but I don’t need him in my head when I’m with you.”

“All right, scone-head.”

“Now you’re just frigging saying things that’re right in front of your face! What’s next? Eaves trough? Bird-shit?”

“Ooo, my little…er, tree….”

They both start naming words as fast as they can, each nickname getting dumber than the last. 

* * *

Beneath the window of Sera’s room, Adder lies on the couch, reading. Sera lies the other way, scribbling in her journal, legs on top of Adder's. It’s a slow day at the Herald’s Rest; Maryden isn’t singing, for once, and there’s only a few murmurs of conversation. Sera reads over her journal.

_Why does she always wear same beige clothes? Needs new outfit!_

_~~Buy clothes.~~ _

~~_Make clothes._ ~~

_~~Steal clothes.~~ _

_Steal Iron Bull's harness. Tits bare! Grand!_

She's too lazy to do it right now. But she's not too lazy to find herself saying, “All this—people, magic, elves and Qunari and whatever—couldn’t come outta nothing. Someone had to _make_ it. You see?”

With a sigh, Adder closes her book. “All right, you caught me. I don’t know how it all came about. It could just as easily be some powerful spirit as some maker, though. We don’t know for sure—”

“No, we do know; Andraste _said_ it.”

“And her words were twisted by centuries of human-centric tradition.”

“Yeah, the Chantry’s done some stupid shit. Don’t make what’s behind it just frigging stories. You think…what, we’re all like kids, needing some bedtime story before we go to sleep?”

“I’ve got no problem with believers, alley cat. Why would I? It’s not something I think about much. We’re here right now. This is what matters. This is what’s important. What do we need the Maker for?”

She’s saying so many things Sera agrees with, but she’s saying them for all the wrong reasons. Sera grits her teeth.

“Bad dreams and long nights.” She knows, by now, that Adder has both.

“I have you for those…” she grins suddenly, tosses her book aside and leans in close, “pussycat.”

Sera closes her journal. “Ugh, you can’t force a nickna—” She pauses. “Oh! _Pussy_ —got it! Got it! Lemme get the door….”

Adder, already unbuttoning her beige top, grins smugly. 

* * *

She asks Dorian, sitting in his usual spot in the library, for some books about Andraste.

“You’ll have to be more specific. ‘Books about Andraste’ infest these shelves like fungus.”

“Well…stuff about how she was real, I guess. And what she did and shite.”

“Ah. That narrows it down,” he says in a way that means it doesn’t. But he gets up and walks to a shelf, scanning titles anyway. “If you would sate my curiosity: why are you so interested in these particular books? It’s an unusual request, you must admit.”

“Argh, why you gotta say so many words when a few will do? Half the time I’ve forgot what you were sayin’ by the time you finished sayin’ it.”

Dorian sighs. “Why. Need. Books?” He makes a face like he just tasted something bad.

“Gotta prove to Addie that the Maker’s real.”

Dorian stops looking at books to look at her, baffled. “A rather tall order, there. And the books will help…?”

“She’ll believe anything if some smartypants wrote about it.”

“I’m sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but the Inquisitor has a voracious appetite for—” Sera starts making talking motions with her hand and Dorian rolls his eyes. “She’s already read most of the books here.”

“Oh.” Sera never thought a lack of books could ever make her hurt this much. “Shit.” Now what is she going to do?

Surprisingly, Dorian doesn't snerk or twitter something clever; he looks sympathetic. “Not that this will help, but I’ve not been able to convince her, either.”

Sera blinks. “What—you care what she believes?”

“Not quite, but we both enjoy a spirited debate. They only make her dig in her heels more. I believe Adder needs the Maker to be a myth. She needs to see Andraste as a mortal woman caught up in forces beyond her control, not the Divine Bride. Spirits with god-like powers, darkspawn magisters who want to be gods…those, she can conceive of. If Andraste spoke truly and the Maker is real, then He had a hand in what happened to Adder at the Conclave. Being controlled isn’t a thought that sits comfortably with her, as I’m sure you’ve noticed.”

“'Course—who likes being controlled?” She pauses for effect, then adds, “'Cept for you. In the bedroom. With Iron Bull.”

Dorian gets that huffy, irritated look he always gets when she teases him about this, which makes her giggle. “'Sera has never come to you for advice before, Dorian. Be nice to her! Talk to her as if she's an adult and not a child easily distracted by shiny things and cheap innuendo—it's what a friend would do.' And see how my good deeds are rewarded.”

“You don't wanna be teased about it, stop doin' it. They smell nice, yeah?”

“Er...what?”

“Qunari. They smell nice.”

“Um, might we just go back to insulting each other?”

“Your face is stupid.”

“Oh, come now. You put no effort into that at all.”

“Needed to warm up, first. I got deep shit on my mind, yeah?”

They insult each other, which is fun for a while—but only for a while. 

* * *

Sera runs into Cole on the way out of the kitchens, some loops of sausage in hand. She sets her shoulders and walks right past it to the Herald's Rest.

“You make words into new words, Sera,” Cole says. “Addie, Addie...a new name, a new nature. A baby snake, funny and fangless, coiled around your heart. It constricts when she's gone and caresses when she's here, scales sweet as—”

“Argh! You're ruinin' it!” Bastard creepy thing ruining Adder's own name. “All right, now I'm thinking...Inky. Nothing but Inky.”

And it still keeps talking. “Gazes like pinpricks when you walk in with her, making the dress itch more.” Sera's stomach sinks, remembering a time when she wore dresses and hair ribbons and stupid shite back with Lady Emmald. “You fidget and scratch―nothing else to do but listen to her coughing while the Mother drones on…. Until the Sister gives you a candle without hesitation, without eyes that say ‘elf.’ Flame―a piece of how the Lady died. Everyone cradles a candle: poor and noble, human and elf and dwarf. Everyone equal.”

Ugh―now it was getting its grubby, Fade-touched fingers all over her good memories, too. “Sod off, Creepy.” Knowing it probably won’t, she keeps walking.

“You’re scared that there’s nothing in the dark. Adder’s scared that there is.”

Sera freezes, sucking in a breath. “I said sod off.” She wants to scream the words, but her voice is a croak. Why does it have to go there?

“You can’t smash a glass, run at her belief with flame and lightning. It’s…it’s like a burglary: waiting, boredom, did you pick the right day, the right time? Hunting through a home in the true dark, no light, never knowing if you nabbed all there is.”

 _Like I'm taking frigging relationship advice from a spirit-thing!_ “The fuck do you care about any of this?”

“You two can make each other so happy―and so unhappy. You should try making each other happy.”

Sera snorts. “Yeah. Bet you get a nice peek at how bloody happy we make each other. You like us seeing us together? Makes you polish your little knife, perv?”

“I don’t polish my daggers.” It’s confused. Of course. “I clean them, though. Adder said to. It keeps the blade from going dull.”

“Argh! What, you can rip private, ugly stuff outta our brains but you can’t figure out wanking? Adder―Inky says you’re people now, but you’re shit at being people. Always will be. Sodding spirit freak!”

Cole’s lips part, but it’s silent. Then it swallows and says, “That hurt my feelings.”

“Serves you bloody right!” She recalls Dorian turning away from Cole, tears in his eyes, and Iron Bull and Blackwall getting haunted, far-off looks after the demon murmured something to them.

Weirdly, Cole smiles. “When you’re shredded, you slice someone else. Your pain blazes bright, pure, uncomplicated. I know that…and your words still stung. You’re wrong.” It sounds happy, not defiant―when does the bastard ever get mad? “I am becoming human.”

 _Great, now I’ve helped it!_ Sera spits in Cole's face. Seems the right thing to do. “Fuck off!”

Cole wipes her spit from its cheek, turns around and leaves. She watches it, with its ragged clothes and stupid hat. She feels―just a bit―like an arsehole, and hates herself for feeling that.

When Adder’s furious “Sera!” rings across the courtyard, it’s a pretty welcome distraction. 

* * *

When she goes to the chapel the next day, Sera is still a bit pissed from her argument with Adder about how she treats Cole. Sera apologized to it for the spitting, but Cole knew she didn’t mean her apology and of course Cole said that, and she and Adder argued again.

The make-up shag was amazing, though. That's why Sera's not full-on pissed.

“Hello again, Sera,” says Mother Giselle as she passes by.

“Hey.”

“This is your third visit to the chapel today. You have neither hidden stolen goods behind the statue of Our Lady, drawn lewd images on the walls, propositioned one of the Sisters, stolen from the offering plate, nor irritated the chanters until they broke the Chant. In short, I fear something troubles you.”

To see what Mother Giselle says, Sera comments, “I just like to look at the statue.”

“What do you feel when you look at her?”

“Dunno.” She shrugs.

But Mother Giselle keeps looking at her, like she’s actually interested in the answer. _Almost enough to make me feel guilty for some of the pranks I pulled. Almost._

“Well…” Sera murmurs, biting her lower lip and looking away.

“Yes?”

Sera leans in close, softly saying, “I like to think…what she’d look like naked.”

Sadly, Mother Giselle doesn’t recoil in disgust. She does, however, sigh and look disappointed. Not quite the reaction Sera was hoping for, but enough to make her giggle.

* * *

She and Varric are playing coppers. Everyone's in the Herald's Rest—the sky's pissing fierce today. Thunder and lightning didn't stop the Commander and Bull from making their soldiers train, though, so Sera's been listening to them come in and complain all day. She'll have to think of something to cheer them up—something that doesn't involve paying for a round of drinks, which is all she's got so far.

“So, heard you're losing your bet with Sister Smuggler,” Sera says. Varric and "Sister" Tanner made a wager about who could smuggle the most lyrium into Skyhold that month.

“I just heard about that ten minutes ago! How did you even know about it?”

Sera shrugs. “Friends.” She lines up her shot. She's going to get it this time, she just knows it. “You could make 'em too if you stopped sobbing about your crossbow-girlfriend and your pet that run off to the mountains.”

“My...what?”

Sera bounces the copper too hard, and it misses the ale-filled cup in the middle of the table. “Piss-tits! Why can't this be easy like arrows?”

“My pet that.... Wait. By pet, you mean bird, which means Hawke....”

“Run, flew. Same thing.”

“And by mountains, you mean Wiesshupt in the Anderfels. Hawke's a person, by the way. You met her. You two went through the Fade togeth—”

 _“Sera, Sera.... If you shoot an arrow at me, I'll know where you are.”_ “Guh, don't friggin' talk about that!”

“Okay, happier memory: We all had an archery contest—”

“That I let you win so you wouldn't be embarrassed in front of your friend! Oh, yeah, now I remember. She's funny. I mean, not _Adder_ -funny, but close.”

Varric bounces his coin off the edge of the table, which he insists is a legal move under Kirkwall rules. The coin goes in the cup. With a sigh, Sera chugs the ale down then catches the copper with her teeth. _That's the second time! Bet he's using trick coins, the prick._

“How are you and she doing?” he asks.

“Asked her that the other day. She used words like 'blissful' and 'ecstatic,' so that's good, innit?” Which makes Sera feel even shittier that she's the one with the problem. She stares down into the empty cup, tossing the soggy copper from hand to hand. “Varric?”

“Yes?”

“Think you could write something for me? About Andraste and how she's the truth? Inky really likes your stories.”

Varric is silent for a few moments, then sighs. “Buttercup, any change needs an inciting incident—something big that shakes the character out of their rut.” She hates when he goes on about books like that. People aren't characters in books. “The Conclave, Haven.... Those are two very big inciting incidents. If they didn't change her mind, I'm not sure what will.”

“So you're not going to try 'cuz you're shit at writing stories. Like your boring Hard in Hightown. Maybe you lost your touch, Dwarfy.”

Varric laughs. “My sales figures after the Winter Palace say otherwise, Buttercup.” He's got a brilliant laugh—like sitting by a fire on a rainy day as you warm up. She wishes he laughed more. _Probably did once._ “Why do you care what the Inquisitor believes? What happened to only caring what people do?”

“Dunno. What, everybody has to know why they do things all the time? We're not all people in your bloody books that go on and on about things.”

“Heh—all I can say is it must be true love, if she's got _you_ thinking about the future.”

“Liked things better when the Maker was all just fairy stories,” Sera grumbles, flagging down the new girl—Brielle? Brianna?—for another mug of ale.

“I try not to worry about what comes next.” Varric smiles, but only with his mouth. “We all find out eventually, right?” His gaze goes elsewhere, seeing all those dead people he left behind in Kirkwall.

Too many people seeing too many dead things. “We need to give these soldiers a laugh. They been out in the rain all day.” She rolls the copper across her knuckles as she thinks. “Do you think—can you write like some poncy noble prick?”

“I could. I won't until you actually explain what you're on about, but I could.”

Sera isn't even sure what she's on about. “Heard from The Lady of Stabby Things that some nobles have been panting hard for the Commander since Halam. They been sending letters to Skyhold and everything. Maybe I 'find' some 'letters' stashed 'in her desk,' really gooey love-letter shite, and read 'em out loud for the lads?”

Varric chuckles. “That...might work, actually. They're going to be at it for a few more hours. Should give me time to churn one or two out....”

 _One or two takes hours?_ “See, that's why your books are shite—how can telling a story take so sodding long? That's just stupid. We gonna keep playing coppers while you write, yeah?”

“Sure. You might actually stand a chance of winning, then.”

“Shut it.”

The worst part is, she doesn't get any better; in fact, she gets another cup of ale in her belly. Varric's question about why she cares what Adder believes jangles away in her head like the coppers that keep missing their mark, and just as irritating.

Eventually, she says, “Adder is mine. She can't leave me. If I go to Heaven, she won't. She'll be stuck in the Void.” She realizes once the words are hanging in the air that they're true—they came from deep in her bones.

“Mm, not everyone would agree that people like us get into Heaven. Stealing, lying, gambling, cheating—not a lot of approval for those in the Chant.”

“What? I help people! I kill bad guys! I'm practically Andraste come again.”

Varric chuckles. “Well, you are with Andraste's Herald. I think that actually means you're in the running for some kind of religious cult.”

Sera giggles. “I should make a few new verses to the Chant. 'And yea, she said you shalt steal the shit of all the noble pricks and also punch 'em in the ballsack.'”

They have fun coming up with the religion of the Blessed Seras, and have even more fun when Sera bursts into poetry about the Commander's hamster-brown hair, which has the crowd of soggy soldiers howling. Sera only remembers what's been bothering her hours later. 

* * *

Sera is knitting a bright pink and purple hat for whoever's the new Divine. It's hard. Adder fell today, and Sera keeps seeing it.

They were cleaning out another group of Venatori slavers in the Hissing Wastes, that's all. A rogue appeared behind Adder while Adder was busy taking down a warrior. The rogue's blades flashed, again and again, until there were no more flashes of metal, just red blood. The warrior got their second wind and hacked at Adder, too. As Adder reached for one of her tempest flasks, lightning from a nearby mage paralyzed her. Then she fell.

Sera remembers screaming “Inky!” and running, hating that she was so far away. A Venatori mage appeared before her. She threw her sleep powder at him only to find she'd thrown one of her flasks―fire spread along the ground. She threw the powder next and ran. Too far away....

Then Adder rose, glowing with green light. Magic. Revival. She'd never been so happy to see magic before. She even thanked Solas after the battle, which was weird for both of them.

They've been fighting Pride Demons, closing rifts like frigging heroes of legend, and a few Venatori almost killed Andraste's Herald.

Sera's asked everyone that counts how to help her with Adder. _Cassandra said “if you want her to believe, show her the Maker's light through your actions,” then went on and on about how I should never have fun. Blackwall grumbled “of course the Inquisitor would make light of faith” and wished me luck, but he never said how to make Adder believe. Nobody knows. Nobody can figure it out. It's frigging up to me._

Flinging down her knitting needles, Sera storms out of her tent. She finds Adder petting the skeletal nose of that disgusting Bog Unicorn. She always brings the weirdy mounts to the desert, says she feels guilty making regular old horses and harts run about.

“Right, Inky,” she snaps, “we gotta talk. Now.”

Adder doesn't look surprised. “All right, sweetheart.”

Sera breathes in and out slowly. Anger is good—it'll keep Sera talking, keep her strong when Adder turns on the charm and the bedroom eyes—but nobody ever got bullied into believing in Andraste. _It's like a burglary. Gotta sneak in._ She can't remember where she heard that, but she likes it.

She leads Adder to the outskirts of camp. The moon hangs high above them.

“Not the tent?” Adder asks.

“No. You been distracting me. With shagging.”

“That or I just really like being with you, arrows.”

“Well, you can't shag me in front of everyone, so now we're gonna talk.”

“Can't I?” Her eyes, fire-coloured and fire-bright, kindle warmth between Sera's legs like always. “My campsite, my rules.”

“You wouldn't.” Although that would be both hot and hilarious. Vivienne, Solas and Cassandra would throw fits. Dorian would snerk. Bull would offer tips. And that night on the war table proves Adder doesn't mind an audience.

 _Focus._ “No, you wouldn't,” Sera repeats. “Think you're some grand mystery, little lady Herald? You're not.”

Adder inhales, her usual smile falling. “You're worried about what happened at the battle today.”

“Worried is 'oh, hope the neighbour kids don't nick my pie while it's cooling on the windowsill.' I'm sodding terrified, Inky!”

“And that's on me—I got cocky. It won't happen again, all right?” Adder strokes her shoulder. “I'll be smarter. But we made it through—”

“—By Andraste's sodding grace.”

There's a short pause before Adder shrugs and says, “Sure. Praise Andraste.”

Sera grits her teeth. “Any other person would say that and mean it. But you...you say that and it's just breath and sound, not heart.”

There's a hint of annoyance in her “I've never hidden that, Sera,” but her next question is pure compassion: “Why is this so important to you all of a sudden?”

Thanks to Varric, she actually has an answer. “I can't be anyplace you're not, Inky. If you go, I need to be able to find you.”

“Then why don't you become a heretic with me? We can find each other in the Void. I bet we get to do all the fun stuff there anyway—no Maker to glare at us like a combination of Cassandra and Chancellor Roderick.”

Despite how determined she is to be mad, Sera snickers. But she can't not believe. Adder must know that by now.

The words, when they come, are curt and thrumming with desperation. “Just...Inky, please. Believe for me, all right?

“It's like—it's like the dance at Halam-sodding-shiral. I didn't want to, but I did it because you asked. Me, dancing in front of all those nobles—I'd do Jenny jobs on most of 'em except now I can't because they might recognize me! I'll have to send other Jennies out to play with 'em if the world ever gets its shit together, when I should be the one playing!”

“I thought you liked our dance,” Adder says, hurt.

“I did! Shite, Inky, 'course I did. But I didn't know I would at the time. So...I danced for you. I need you to dance for me.”

Adder inhales deeply, then slowly lets the breath out. She looks out over the endless dunes. “You're asking a bit more than five minutes at Halamshiral.”

Had it only been five minutes? It felt longer, there in her arms, letting her lead and then switching things up and leading her, brushing up against her breast or hip when she stumbled, making up the dance as they went along. A dance for the two of them.

“There might be Heaven after all this,” Sera says. “You said you don't know. No harm in acting like there's a Maker in case there is for true, yeah?”

When Adder doesn't reply, Sera steps in front of her, blocking her view of the dunes, then pulls her face down so Adder is only looking at her. “You're so bloody smart—so smart you talk yourself outta seeing what's right in front of you. If you're so smart...why do you wanna be with someone so stupid?”

Adder steps back, wrapping Sera's hands in her own. “Stop calling yourself stupid! Sera, I love you. You and me against the world, remember?”

“The Maker...Andraste...they're part of me, too.” Sera can't believe she said that. It's some noble, Chantry bullshit. But now it's out there and she can't take it back.

Adder looks at the sand at her feet. She inhales loudly, then drops Sera's hands and turns away from her. Sera feels like she vanishes from her own body, becomes nothing more than the constant wish _Please please please please please._ Adder stares up at the moon, just breathing in and out. Then, slowly, she turns back, meeting Sera's gaze. “For you...I'll try. I can't promise—”

Sera can breathe and feel and move again. She crows and leaps into Adder's arms, squeezing her tight. “Worship ain't all boring like Cassandra and them go on about, yeah? Shite, you know me—no Chantry on Sundays, no prayers before bed, no stupid robes.”

“Ah—a religion that doesn't affect my life in any way. This, I can get behind. I suppose you and Varric will be my role models.” Adder grins down at her. “Although maybe you should wear those robes. It'd be fun tearing them off you.”

Sera giggles and stretches up to kiss her. Adder recoils and, startled, Sera gets off her tiptoes.

“Sorry, love—vitaar.” It's simple orange-brown splotches along her cheeks, chin and forehead—one of the felandaris ones. Vivienne and Dorian once complained that she should paint fancy diamonds, stripes and circles like Iron Bull had done before he got his helm. Stylish vitaar would add to her stature, helping her inspire or intimidate, insisted Vivienne. Dorian noted that Adder already shaved her head—what was a few more minutes onto her morning routine? Adder listened, nodded, and the next morning stepped out of her tent with a dot on her nose, a muzzle, and four cat whiskers on each cheek. No one ever complained again. She's come a long way from the stoic, rarely smiling Qunari who led them through the Frostbacks after Haven.

“Not everywhere, yeah?” Sera asks.

“Not everywhere,” Adder agrees, leading Sera to her tent.

They shag, but Sera doesn't get as into it as she usually does. It's hours later, when she's lying beside Adder, that she realizes why. _Shite. I'm boring. This is how it starts. Andraste's tits, what if we stop shagging?_ She sits up, her gaze falling on Adder's stupid armour. Adder only wears two sets: the black, dark brown and onyx set, and her desert set, all cream and beige. Sera asked her why her armour was so boring, and Adder said she felt like she was noticeable enough just being Qunari.

When the idea strikes, she almost giggles, only just remembering to clap her hand over her mouth and not wake Adder. Adder doesn't like getting rid of her old vitaar. Sera pulls the pouches and the brushes from Adder's pack. There's the emerald and yellow-green of one of the elfsnake vitaars, the intense yellow and pale blue of one of the deepstalkers. Pity she doesn't have any more of the bright-red rashvine.

Sera takes up Adder's brush and gets to work.

She wakes up to “Sera!” There's Adder, staring at Sera's handiwork in frustration.

“Maker did it,” Sera says.

Adder looses a long breath, already getting over it, and chuckles. “So that's why you needed me to believe! I don't recall anything about miraculously coloured clothes in the Chant, though, and I know it pretty well.”

“Pfffbbt, you don't know the Chant.”

“I know it better than you.” When Sera scoffs again, Adder says, “Which Canticle contains the verse 'In secret they worked magic upon magic—'”

“You know the words. But it's behind the words that's really important. Don't worry. I'll teach you.”

Adder chuckles again. “All right. And thanks for what you wrote between my legs, by the way.” She gestures to the rude word that'll cover her ladybits when she puts the armour on. “You know this means we're going to run into a bunch of children today. Little kids that'll all point and ask what that word means.”

“Uh, pretty sure the only kids out here are slaves, Inky. You think slaves haven't heard a bad word or two? They probably can't even read.”

“Mm, fair enough, love.” Adder watches her, a smile deepening the laugh lines of her mouth. “I think I've got the subject for my first prayer: Dear Maker, thank you for sending me the best partner ever.”

Sera mimes vomiting.

“She's so classy and charming.”

“Love,” Sera says suddenly. “That's a good nickname. Back home, people said it every day—'Can I get you some breakfast, luv?' That sorta thing. It's common. But when you say it, it'll be common but...not.”

“Uncommon. There's actually a word that means not common.”

“Not loving the grammar lessons, Inky.”

“Vocabulary. Grammar means—” Sera scowls and Adder interrupts herself to say “—and words are stupid, I know, love.”

Definitely a good name. Sera feels all warm and quivery inside.

Until Adder throws her off track with “So, this means I get to teach our kids the Dissonant Verses, right?”

“The what now?” Sera pauses. “ _Our_ kids?” She pauses again. “Loony.”

_I did what I could with her, Lady. She's all yours now. Enjoy the weirdness._


End file.
